


Glory Box

by Kleenexwoman



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing Kink, Feminization, Gender Dysphoria, Lingerie, Multi, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 13:40:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5006830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kleenexwoman/pseuds/Kleenexwoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a part of Napoleon Solo that envies the Innocents he sends home because they have lives, families, love that will never go away. There's a part of him that envies the women, especially.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glory Box

Napoleon proposes to Angelique that they have a threesome with Serena. "I don't want your sloppy seconds," Angelique says. She lights a cigarette and lies back down, thinking about it. "How many times has it been you and her?" 

"Three," Napoleon says after what seems to be a moment of sincere brain-wracking. 

That's not nearly as many times as Angelique has had Napoleon. This is satisfactory. She privately resolves to pull ahead even more. The thought of her and Serena working together is unbearable. The thought of them in a friendly competition to make Agent Solo come his brains out is ridiculous. 

"I don't usually," Napoleon explains, "but I did that in my first year as an active agent--there were these two roommates, both lovely girls, who couldn't decide who would get me in bed that night. So they told me they'd share me." 

"How charitable. And how did it end?" 

"Well, I had to recover after a couple of rounds, so they started in on each other..." Napoleon's voice trails off in a fond reverie. Angelique takes a long drag on her cigarette and imagines two lovely girls, one slim and blonde, one plump and brunette. The plump one is kneeling between the legs of the blonde one, her eyes closed in pure ecstasy and her face shining with the other woman's juices. The slim blonde one has her hand tangled in the other woman's hair. And next to them both, Napoleon, crossing his legs and watching. 

"And, darling?" 

"I slipped out while they were snoozing in each other's arms. And I just looked at them and thought..." Napoleon sits up, palms pressed to the satin sheets. "How lucky they were. To be women and in love with each other." 

"If you're hoping for something friendly between her and I, you're out of luck." Angelique grinds out her cigarette. "She's an awful cunt with no sense of style. I wouldn't be caught dead in bed with her unless she was on the wrong end of a leash and a gag." 

"I thought she was very nice," Napoleon says. 

"You think every woman, deep down, is nice," Angelique says. 

"Well. Then do you have any other lady friends you'd like to introduce me to?" 

Angelique thinks about Mara, who mostly stays locked up in her computer lab underground. All she has to do is run her fingers through Mara's hair, and the icy blonde scientist melts against Angelique's body, ending up in a puddle at her feet. The poor thing hasn't learned how to guard her heart when she gives her body away, which is really the point of Seduction class--one kind word from Solo without the accompanying slap or pinch that Angelique tames her pet scientist with, and she'd be gone. Unacceptable; a mere operative might be acceptable cannon fodder, but Mara is the path to Angelique's master plan. 

"I might be a little more open to the idea if you provided your own woman," Angelique says. "All those innocent girls you pick up--I'm sure there are a handful who'd love to be debauched by a cunning duo like us." 

Napoleon shakes his head. "They're not for you." 

"Darling!" Angelique sits up, a faux-aghast. "You mean to say we can't play a few games together someday? Or you don't think I can pick up one of those girls?" 

"They're not a game to me, Angelique. It's simply off-limits." 

Angelique rolls over and pouts. "Well, what if I help you on one of your silly missions? Do I get to do it then?" 

She sees the spark of something in his eyes, and she immediately congratulations herself and hates herself for igniting it. Napoleon isn't one of the dull spies she dispatches from MI6 or the CIA. He has a sense of fun, and doesn't insist on winning except when it counts to him. It's far more valuable to her to quietly slip him a few victories, if nothing serious is at stake. But she knows he wouldn't keep coming back to her, even when it was this dangerous, if he didn't hope that he could convince her to defect to UNCLE someday. And that meant love, deep down in his tarnished little heart, and that would really ruin the good times she had with him. 

Napoleon grins and leans back on the pillow, arms crossed just above his head. It's an invitation to a good handcuffing. Angelique spends a moment trying to remember if she brought the sex cuffs or the interrogation cuffs. Perhaps both? "You've got a deal," he says. 

Angelique nearly bites through her cigarette. To recover, she says, "So tell me about the girl we're going to pick up." 

"Well, the thing is that I don't really know who she is yet," Napoleon says. "She could be a sweet young thing just out of college, or a housewife." 

"You do like your sweet young things, don't you?" Angelique smirks. 

"I like women who know what they want." 

"Let me guess. You want to give these sad little women their fantasy." 

"Not everyone wants to be an international woman of mystery." 

"Ah, don't tell me the great Solo thinks about settling down with one of these ladies." 

Napoleon shakes his head, avoiding her eyes. "It's a little more like envy." 

"Because they come home to people who they can trust. How sweet." 

"You don't want that?" 

"What makes you think I don't have it?" 

"THRUSH doesn't encourage that sort of thing." 

"But darling, if you want to be at the top, you must be prepared to break the rules." 

"Oh? And why is that?" 

Napoleon thinks she's joking, or that it's some sort of philosophical debate about the concept of leadership. Of course he would. Deep down, he does believe in rules, because he thinks that they make it easier to be kind to people. Angelique knows better. The rules are there to keep the ones at the bottom from rising to the top, because the rules forbid what it would take to get them there. It's hilarious, she thinks, how transparent THRUSH makes it, and how many people still believe that following the rules will get them to THRUSH Central someday. 

"Because life is about having fun," she says instead. "If you were going to be one of these innocent girls, tell me, who would you be? Who would be waiting at home for you?" 

"Well, that's the first time anyone has ever asked me what I'd be like if I was a girl," Napoleon says. He purses his lips, as though genuinely giving it thought. "I'm a little bit too old to be a college girl, or at home with my mother. I suppose I'd be a housewife." 

Angelique slides over next to him. "Oh? And who would be your husband?" 

"Someone cold," Napoleon says. He closed his eyes. "Someone a little cruel. Maybe he'd hit me when he was angry. He would never shout, he'd barely raise his voice. He'd just hit me." 

"I can see you in a little spotted dress, kneeling in front of your man." Angelique arranges Napoleon's face in her mind to be softer, rounder, a sort of Audrey Hepburn look. She assigns Napoleon's glowering little Russian partner to be the husband. He'd give her a swift, open-palmed slap, meant to sting rather than bruise. But it would draw blood, a bright red drop smearing across her lip. Then he'd lean down and kiss her, biting her lower lip as she opened her mouth. He'd taste her blood. 

"Will you be a good girl?" the husband in Angelique's head asks, and she murmurs it to herself, savoring the moment in the fantasy. Next to her, she sees Napoleon nodding, his eyes wide. 

"Yes," he says, "yes, I will," and a brilliant spark of possibility blooms in Angelique's mind. 

"I'd kidnap you," she says. 

"And keep me tied up?" 

"No." Angelique gets out from under the covers and sits on the foot of the bed. "I'd convince you to ditch your secret agent friends and to join THRUSH." She strokes Napoleon's leg through the coverlet. "Leave those silly agents alone, darling. You can have more fun with me." 

"But I'd have to leave my darling husband," Napoleon says, in a soft voice that's not quite a falsetto. 

"The brute isn't worth it." Angelique caresses the corner of Napoleon's jaw. She presses a kiss to the side of Napoleon's neck and bites down a little, just enough to tantalize. "He can't please you the way I can." 

She straddles Napoleon's body and pulls down the coverlet. Napoleon grasps at it, eyes wide, but lets Angelique yank it down without a struggle. His chest is smooth, with barely a hint of stubble--she's never known a man to shave his chest, but Americans have strange ideas about body hair. His nipples are erect, smaller and darker than a woman's, and she brushes a thumb over one. "Does your husband ever bother to give you pleasure?" she asks. "Or does he bend you over the kitchen table and take what he wants?" 

Napoleon shudders. "He always leaves me aching." 

"And do you have to creep upstairs and take care of yourself?" Angelique slides her hand along Napoleon's stomach. It's a little endearing, the hint of a soft belly that Napoleon can't seem to eradicate or doesn't bother to. "Tell me how you do it." 

"Well, first I run a warm bath..." 

"How charming. Do you light scented candles?" 

"Of course. They set a mood." Napoleon slides his hand down his chest, and his fingers meet hers and tangle together. "I have to clean myself off, of course. I'm filthy. The house is filthy and I'm the worst thing in it." 

"Don't tell me he caught you with the milkman." 

"And the mailman. And the egg-cooker repairman." Napoleon smiles to himself a little, as though it's a private joke. "I'd be a horrible wife, wouldn't I? Flirting with every man I came across." 

"Nonsense. Once you found the right woman, you'd be a wonderful little wife." Angelique thinks about Napoleon in a little polka-dot dress, on bended knees, and her smile is real and warm in a way she's never let Napoleon see before. 

Napoleon closes his eyes for a moment. "Do you think so?" he asks, a bit wistfully. 

Angelique has to set out the bait. She has to, she has to, it's a matter of professional pride. She nuzzles Napoleon's neck. "Darling, if we moved to a sweet little village in the Alps after this is all over, you'd look perfect making me dinner." 

Napoleon laughs. "In a lace apron?" 

Angelique puts her lips to his ear. "In nothing at all." She catches her breath and slides her other hand over his abdomen, rubbing her way down. "I could chain you up, too, if you wanted." 

Napoleon's breath hitches in what sounds like a sob, and he rolls over onto his stomach. "What would you do to me when you came home?" 

Angelique gives herself a mental salute. She crouches over his body like a lioness, puts her hand on the nape of his neck, and snarls into his ear, "You know what I'd do to you, _meine geliebten Hausfrau_." 

She manages to tip a puddle of massage oil into her hand without much fuss as Napoleon spreads his legs. 

*

The second time it comes up, Napoleon is on his knees in front of the bed, head buried under Angelique's skirt and murmuring endearments between her legs. He didn't even stop to loosen his tie, so Angelique has the end of it in her hand like a leash. Napoleon doesn't seem to object. " _Ma petite fleur_ ," he says to it. " _Ce un trou délicieux_." 

" _Me parler, pas à ma chatte_ ," Angelique says. 

Instead, Napoleon puts his mouth to better use. He has a wonderful technique, kissing and licking her gently at first, alternating little butterfly flutters of his tongue with flat broad strokes that reach her a little deeper inside. After a few minutes, he'll dart his tongue down to the hidden lips inside and wriggle a little, tease her entrance, seeing if she's wet. Once she's started to leak, he'll suck at her clit, use his teeth a little, and then he'll start moving his tongue quick and hard in all sorts of interesting patterns. 

Angelique lets him build her up first, lying back and enjoying the attention. Her first climaxes are usually soft and subtle, but they leave her hungry for more. She reaches down and yanks Napoleon's hair, pressing his face to her cunt as she thrusts her hips forward. Napoleon is always game for this, breathing with her rhythm and wriggling his tongue inside her while she rubs her clit on the tip of his nose. The second orgasm burns through her, and she shrieks and curses until the shuddering in her hips and legs dies down. 

She pushes Napoleon away and manages to flop fully onto the bed, breathing through her nose and luxuriating in the enervated feeling spreading through her limbs. Napoleon lands next to her after a moment, tie askew, hair mussed up, mouth slick and wet with her juices. He licks his lips. "Another round?" 

"Not yet, darling." Angelique brushes the back of her hand against his lips. "Enjoying yourself?" 

"I always do, with you." He presses a soft, closemouthed kiss to her lips. 

"And with other women, you don't always?" 

"It depends on what they want." 

"Oh?" 

"Well." Napoleon folds his hands daintily on his stomach. "There are quite a few things nobody has ever thought of doing to me before." 

"Like chaining you up in a lace apron?" 

Napoleon closes his eyes. "Well. The chaining up part, yes, but not always for fun." 

"It's a shame." Angelique walks her fingers up Napoleon's crotch, feeling the hard swelling of his cock underneath the gabardine of his trousers. She lazily unbuttons his fly. "I think you'd look good in more lace." 

She doesn't get a chance to lavish as much attention on Napoleon as he did on her, because he comes like a rocket after less than ten minutes of her mouth. He's very delicate about what he likes, preferring strategic licking and soft touches to the kind of intense suction that most men seem to prefer. Angelique suspects he's trained himself, or maybe it's just that he gets so worked up from burying his face in a warm cunt that he can't stand much more stimulation. It makes her end of the encounter more pleasant, anyway, and it's endearing. 

"What a messy, naughty girl you are." She drags her fingers through the streaks of come on his belly. That garners a twitch and another little spurt, along with a choked sigh from Napoleon. 

"You could put me in lace," he says, his voice low and serious. "Make me wear it for you." 

"I'll think about it," says Angelique.


End file.
